Taste of things to come

A TINY Tardis of a helicopter, discharging more people than reasonably it might be expected to hold, had landed just before we did. It seemed a bit over the top, as perhaps a helicopter should. Besides, Swinton Park is an OTT sort of a place – seriously smart, elegantly informal, ineluctably expensive.

Rooms start at £160 a night, suites at £280. A “royal garden party afternoon tea” is £19.50, a pint of Black Sheep £3.65, a gin and tonic £9. This was Sunday lunch: three courses, £25.

Swinton Park is near Masham, in North Yorkshire, the castellated house begun in 1695 by Sir Abstrupus Danby – “memorably but inaccurately christened by a befuddled parson” – and bought in 1882 by Sir Samuel Cunliffe-Lister, who made his money in the mills and whose family still owns it.

It’s part of a large country estate that’s particularly keen on its venison.

Deer do? Readers must decide for themselves, but should guard against jumping to conclusions.

The afternoon began and ended in the handsome drawing room, hung with portraits of sundry Swinton nobility and scattered with the Sunday papers.

Laid back legend has it that on our last visit, eight years ago, I’d had a post-prandial nap beneath the blindeye Observer.

The dining room may be grander yet – high ceilinged, spacious, views across the parkland and formal gardens.

It’s the sort of place which the lady of this house would have liked to have wrapped up and taken home with her, or at least been allowed to roller skate along the corridors.

The staff, and not least a young man called Bob, are superb. Bob, it transpired, not only had a journalism qualification but had spent a few months on work experience at the Echo before deciding that they also serve who only stand and wait.

He also had a hospitality degree from Bath university, a sommelier’s qualification and a great deal of style.

If good waiting, like good writing, is chiefly about confidence then this guy could have been editor of The Times.

His only mistake was when jocularly asked the Marske United score – a long story why Marske United were playing at 1pm on the Sabbath – he returned with the news that they’d beaten Blackburn Rovers 2-1. Marske United, for heaven’s sake. Who on earth cares about Man United?

Since there was no mobile reception, they offered free use of a landline to check the half-time situation.

Full marks. Marske one up.

Each menu section offers four choices. Starters included a white onion veloute with truffle foam and a wonderfully smooth chicken liver parfait with fruit and nut toast and an apricot something-or-other that was a bit like jam.

The Boss started with sea bass with black pasta and a sauce so delicious that she betrayed her fetchings up by dunking the bread in it. Good bread, too. She thought the salmon wonderful, the prawn and lime butter sensational, the saffron potatoes – “like little pineapple chunks” – so glorious that she all but begged a bucket in which to take some home.

Main courses also included pumpkin gnocchi – some vegetarian option, that – and the estate venison, aforesaid and to come.

Bob was by this time rehearsing a little ditty with himself. It was Tom Jones, he said, but he also liked Dusty, Elvis and the Grateful Dead.

While the dining room is happily music free, they had a semi-woofer (or some such) when setting up.

Among the other notable things was that he didn’t follow the strange fashion of pouring with one arm half way up his back, like the waiter’s come third in a game of kiss, cuddle or torture in the playground of Timothy Hackworth juniors. That’s how good he was.

If there was one fault it was that the food, while generally five star, might have been a little more substantial, one of those lunches which make you suppose you might fancy a sandwich by five o’clock.

Some additional vegetables would have been appreciated. We proles would suggest a few chips.

If there was a second fault, it was that the venison – “hunch of venison” it said on the menu, and you’d guess they knew what they were talking about – was oddly inconclusive, almost like beef. It came with bacon lardons, roast onions and Savoy cabbage.

Puddings were great, a wonderfully toasty creme brulee with raspberry sorbet and a chilled rose and lychee parfait of memorable, coruscating flavours and impeccable texture.

The wine list offered a bottle for £420. Having paid £9 for a gin and slimline, The Boss asked for a jug of tap water instead.

Another happy surprise came back in the drawing room when both the excellent coffee from a generous pot and the chocolates which accompanied it were included in the £25 price.

Better value by the minute.

Better yet, and boisterously celebrated, Marske United had beaten St Ives 3-0, an excitable reason for not dozing off beneath The Observer.

For many it may seem a special occasion sort of a place, but it’s a very special place, too. Outside in the sunshine, spring just seemed to stir – and this, it’s hoped, a taste of things to come. As the folk in that flight of fancy helicopter might have said, give it a whirl.

■ Swinton Park, Masham, North Yorkshire, tel. 01765-680900. The hotel also has a cookery school and bird of prey centre – hawk walk £45. swintonpark.com

LAST week’s column was mistaken to suppose that the Ripley Café in the Valley Gardens at Harrogate was part of the Ripley Castle estate, owned by Sir Thomas Ingilby. Sir Thomas, deputy chairman of the Yorkshire Tourist Board, has no direct connection whatever.

Sir Thomas, to whom apologies, is also promoting the Destination Harrogate awards. “They will highlight those businesses which are setting high standards of quality and customer service – and hopefully encourage others to raise their game,” he says.

THE Vintage Hotel, long years on the A66 at Scotch Corner, is offering takeaway fish and chips between 6-8pm Monday to Friday – £5.75 a carton, £10 for two. For the sake of timing, they prefer advance orders on 01748-824424.

We looked in on spec, had a pint – pity there’s no real ale. The music machine was playing 24 Hours From Tulsa as we left, though it was only five minutes to home.

The fish was fleshy and excellent; some would prefer the batter crisper.

The chips, though slightly undercooked, were fresh, plentiful and tasty.

A carton of mushy peas, a few bob more, was fine. Vintage? Well, really pretty good – and no washing up at the end.

■ Stop press (as they say). Fish and chips for two is now just £9 throughout March with four bottles of Budweiser, Stella or Cobra or a bottle of house wine a further £6.

BARELY six months after we reported what she swore was her last stop, 71-year-old Thai chef Oie Shaw – ubiquitous, indefatigable – has left the Wheatsheaf in Yarm Road, Darlington and is at Hogarths, recently opened in the Market Place. Thai cooking Thursday to Saturday evenings.

…and finally the bairns wondered if we knew what nut sounds like a sneeze. Cashoo.